First Day of School

I take a deep breath as I park the car. The drive was easy. Every curve in the road was familiar, and I flew by the fields with my windows down, music blaring, laughing as if I was a high school senior again. This time though, I drive into the staff parking lot of my high school, not the student one. I roll the window back up, turn down the music, and fix my wind-blown hair. This is my first day of school. I’m the teacher; I can’t make a bad impression.

My legs shake beneath me as I smooth out my skirt. I don’t think I was this nervous on my first day of freshman year, but then again, I was going on a new adventure. Today, I must retrace my steps. Walk down the same hallways that I used to stroll through with people who I thought were my best friends. Sit in classrooms where I helped the time pass by making jokes with people who I thought valued spending time with me.

The building is the same, still crumbling at the seams. I can’t help but smile. There’s a new friend group sitting on the vent by the entrance waiting for the bell to ring. I hope their relationships last longer than mine did. No. I’m past this. My friends were fine. We had fun. We all moved on to bigger and better things. I walk past the friends and walk down the hallway. I take a quick detour. I need to know if the mural we painted my junior year was still there or if it was painted over by classes after us. It’s not there. It didn’t last that long, and it’s frustrating because there are paintings older than ours that lasted. Our abstract painting is now a nature scene. My fingers trace the surface.

Ms. Gomer angrily comes out of her room shushing our laughter, reminding us that there is still learning going on. Megan and I try to calm our giggles, but there’s a few that can’t help but escape. It’s the end of the school year, so according to tradition, the art history class gets to paint a mural in the hallway. I’m no artist, but I do enjoy outlining the shapes other people painted. “Wow, this line is so smooth and straight!” Dahye points to the area I was just working on.

The first bell rings, jolting me from my thoughts. It’s my warning as a teacher that I should get to my room so that I’m ready for my students. Ha! I laugh at that thought. Getting ready for my students. What am I getting myself into? I’m not ready for this. I’m stuck in the land of memories. How am I supposed to get in front of a class full of 15-year olds when I feel like I have also been transported to my own 15-year-old self? I’ve grown. I’m different. The building might not have changed, but I sure have. At least, I hope.

I never did learn the messed-up room numbers, so I sigh when I realize which room is mine. It is fitting, I guess. This was my favorite room in the whole school. There was a coziness, a familiarity. It was also the room of my favorite teacher. My friends and I also ate our lunch in here every day for our entire high school experience. Of course, the desks are set up completely different, but my mind easily moves them around to match the image in my mind. Without thinking I sit down in a desk. How natural it feels.

“Hmm… and where is your outline?” Mr. Matthews asks with his arms crossed but a grin on his face. Dahye and I continue to pack up while avoiding looking at his face.

“Uh, bye! See you at lunch!” We shout as we hurry out the door to get to our next class. It wasn’t that we didn’t do the work. We talked about what we should write down, but somewhere between speaking and writing we got distracted by talking about weekend plans. There’s a certain amount of privilege we allow ourselves knowing that we are Mr. Matthews’ favorite students.

“Ms. Piper?”

“Hmm,” I barely respond.

“This is 9^th grade English, right?”

“Right! Yeah, sorry.” I say jumping to my feet. What a great way to meet my first student. “Welcome! What’s your name?”

She quickly responds, “Bethany” before turning to talk with a classmate who has just entered the classroom. I think about interrupting just to introduce myself, but I decide that’ll be too awkward. I’ll just wait for the whole class to be here. I make my way over to the teacher’s desk. My desk. Setting my bag down I take another deep breath and glance at the clock. Ten minutes until class starts. I fear my heart is trying to escape from my chest. Trying to hide my nerves, I mindlessly shuffle papers around on my desk and keep my head down. Before I know it, the bell rings to start class. The room is packed, and I take a moment to look around. Most people are friends or at least talking with one another.

Over there is where I sat first semester Freshman year and talked with two friends that I quickly lost contact with. That back corner is where I sat second semester with my best friend from fourth grade. Senior year I moved to the front of the classroom, perfectly surrounded by my friend group. There was one day when I turned to my then best friend and said, “I can’t believe we get another four years together!”

“But it won’t be the same. We won’t have classes together.” No, I guess not, but I didn’t think as much would change as it did. I should have known then from your pessimism that I was just filled with foolish ideals.

           I move to in front of the class and laugh. This ends up being a pretty effective strategy to get the class’s attention. They all want to know why their teacher is just laughing to herself. I explain how weird I feel standing in this room as a teacher. Most don’t really seem to care, so I move into the introductory lesson. I keep it light and easy today, doing ice breakers that I know everyone loves so much. By the end of the day, and after five repetitions of the same class, I’m filled with confidence. Only 179 more school days. I can do this.

           Before going out to the car, I take a moment to look around the classroom once more. On top of all the old memories I add on the layer from today. In the same back corner where I once sat with Megan, I can now visualize talking with Bethany about her summer vacation. Where I once stood to give presentations on books, I now stood most of the day explaining how the year was going to function. A small part of me longs for my high school friends again because I am staring at the blackboard where some lunches we played hangman or Pictionary. My cheeks hurt from smiling so much. But these didn’t happen often, especially our later high school years.

It’s quiet today. I’m sitting on top of the desk, eating my lunch like normal, but we don’t want to talk. We are all on our phones, but I take a moment to look around me. How tired we all are, but it doesn’t seem to just be of schoolwork. It seems to be of each other. The friend group is clearly divided with a whole classroom in between us. Do they not realize that we only have a few months left together? Do they not care?

           I take the drive home slower than this morning. All the memories are weighing me down and I feel like I’m swimming through a fog. Unable to see where I am going, I move in circles. I’m torn on how I feel about my high school friends, or rather, how I think I’m supposed to feel about them. Walking through the hallways today I remembered all our highlights but watching the new freshman interact I couldn’t help but wonder if they also thought their friendships would last forever. I don’t want to be bitter. I thought I grew past this. High school happened, and really it wasn’t a bad experience, and my life now is phenomenal and filled with the relationships with a depth of love I didn’t even think was possible.

           My knuckles go white gripping the wheel too hard and my teeth ache from clenching them. I’m trying too hard to keep it together, to push aside and ignore all the frustrating thoughts I thought I had gotten rid of years ago. I want to hold onto a positive thought and just repeat it, but all of them are too slippery and moving too fast. Thoughts of the love I had towards my friend run into feelings of not being enough for them which also run into thoughts that I shouldn’t even be basing my worth on my friendships. My driving now matches the speed of my thoughts as all I want is to get home and collapse.

           A long 20 minutes later, I make it to my front door. I’ve managed to calm down a little, but still, I’m exhausted from the emotional toll of the drive. My kitten mews at me, so I pick her up as I walk to the kitchen to make some tea. Planning for tomorrow can wait until after I figure out what just happened on my way home. I won’t be able to last the rest of the year if every day reminds me of the struggles with my high school friends.

I’m trying to focus on the TV. I’m in a bad mood and don’t appreciate Mom attempting to start a conversation by blocking my view of what I’m watching. She knows something is wrong, though. Before I know it, my mom’s arms are wrapped protectively around me and I’m spilling all my frustrations about my friends to her. How I feel expendable. How it seems we are only friends out of convivence. Why does no one check-in with me? Or text me something funny just because it made them think of me?

           I call one of my college best friends. I need to hear her voice. To be reminded that I am valued and important. That it is also ok that I felt like I am moving backward. It was through her friendship where I found my strength and worth. Where I first felt like I could take up mental space and not always have everything together. During my freshman year of college, I was stuck wondering why my friends didn’t love me enough to want to spend time with me. I was stuck feeling like I was not a good enough friend myself. That it should have been on me to check in more often. That I was being too impatient and not understanding enough of everyone’s busy schedules.

           “How was your first day of school, Ms. Piper?” She jokingly asks. “Were there any bullies I need to go fight for you?”

           “I love you, Sandra!” I blurt out.

           “I love you, too. Everything ok?”

           “I don’t know. My students seem great, but it was rough. Every hallway reminds me of my high school friends, and I become confused again. I don’t know how I’m supposed to feel.”

           “Don’t worry about supposed to. How do you feel currently?”

           “I feel guilty. That I’m the person who messed up the friendships. And now I’m worried about my current friendships. What if one day my friends just decide I’m not worth it anymore? That they are just friends with me because it’s convenient?”

           “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.” I let out a deep breath I didn’t even realize I was holding. Sandra always knows what to say.

           “I know,” I let out in a whisper. I fill her in on my thoughts on the drive home and they begin to untangle just a little. At midnight I finally say goodbye. I have another full day of teaching tomorrow and I don’t want to be too tired.

           After hanging up, I lay in bed cuddling my kitten. I stare at the ceiling thinking. Sandra reminded me that I was not a bad friend. I also should not have had to beg my friends to spend time with me. It is incredibly draining to pour out energy into people who aren’t giving it back. But the thing is, I want to be the person who doesn’t give up on relationships. I also determined that I don’t want to base my actions on others. I am reminded that I chose to focus on being a caring friend simply because that’s who I am.

           The drive to school the next day was calmer. The windows were still rolled down so I could feel the warmth of the late summer morning. My music is still playing, but it’s relaxing and not as loud. My hands only slightly tremble as I fix my skirt and hair today. I take a moment before going inside the building. Today will be better. I’m more prepared for the memories. I am allowed to love reminiscing the happy moments. I am also allowed to miss those memories and feel confused about why my friends stopped trying to see me once we left high school. However, today I remember there are people today who love me no matter what.

           I see the same group of girls sitting by the entrance, but instead of worrying how long their relationship will last, I am just glad they have each other for now. I also walked past the hallway where our mural once stood. I’m still disappointed that it no longer exists, but I have to admit, the current one is beautiful. I stand outside my classroom, ready to greet my students. The first person to enter my class is Bethany again. I’ve got this today. From my position at the door, I watch the students milling in the hallway. Nothing is different. Not really. High school is still just high school. It’s easy to see myself back in the sea of students.

           My first two classes run smoothly, but by lunch I’m ready for my break. I’m about to close my door, not wanting to have to interact with anyone, but before I can get myself up from the chair Bethany pops her head in the room. “Can I eat lunch in here?”

           “I would love that!” How could I resist? I love it when life forms full circles. I thought she was alone, but her friends follow in after her. Without hesitating they plop down on top of the desks and pull out their lunches before chatting away. I couldn’t shake my smile for the rest of the day. My high school friends were fun. We had our ups and downs, and I’m sure walking around this building again will continue to give me flashbacks to moments I don’t always want to remember, but I’m fine. I can do this. I am valued. I am needed. I am loved. I also know I have a lot of love to give, it’s one of the reasons I became a teacher in the first place.